


Frances Hobbs

by Khanee_Bear22



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Not Beta Read
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:49:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27018346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khanee_Bear22/pseuds/Khanee_Bear22
Summary: Frances Hobbs only really had one set goal in life; protect her little sister Abigail at all costs. But when her own father becomes the biggest threat to Abigail's life, Frances is torn and her whole life begins to unravel at the seams. As Frances tries to hold what little family she has left together, she meets two people that will change her life forever, for better or worse. But who can she trust? The kind and mysterious psychiatrist, Hannibal Lector? Or the strange and awkward man that saved her life, Will Graham?(Sorry, I'm not quite accustomed to writing summaries so this may be terrible... I tried...)(I also might change the title... I'm not good at coming up with titles for things so I just used her name...)
Relationships: Hannibal Lecter/Original Female Character(s), Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter/Original Female Character(s), Will Graham/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 27





	1. Prologue: First Session

**Author's Note:**

> (Here's a little description/key for my character, Frances)
> 
> Name: Frances ‘Fran’ Hobbs
> 
> Age: 22 years old
> 
> Appearance: Short dark wavy hair (undercut), about 5’8, grey/blue eyes, pale freckled skin, curvy/stocky, wears mostly dark boyish/comfortable clothing and work boots, has a few tattoos (mostly on her arms), wears silver jewelry (rings, chokers layered with necklaces, dangling earrings, chains on her belt)
> 
> Family:  
> Mother: Louise Hobbs  
> Father: Garret Jacob Hobbs  
> Sibling(s): Abigail Hobbs

I have been sitting in this uncomfortable chair in these fluorescent lights for what felt like forever now. At least three other patients had come through, sitting with me for a while before being called in. Each time the door opened for them the doctor would glance at me briefly then welcome them inside and they’d come out about an hour later. The secretary would see them out with a smile, then frown as her eyes passed over me in my desolate corner, before returning to her desk to type away at her computer. I kind of wanted to flip her off for being rude, but I didn’t want to start something I knew I couldn’t finish in my current mental state. So I sat and suffered in silence...  
I guess it was my fault that my ass was numb and my head ached; I had been the one so anxious for my first therapy appointment that I came hours early. I suppose that’s part of the reason I was here, my anxiety… I could almost laugh at the irony, but the secretary at the other side of the room would surely judge me for it.  
I tapped my foot, in part out of anxiousness but also to retain the feeling in my legs. I jumped as the door opened and another patient walked out, saying their goodbyes to the good doctor before making their way to the exit. Just as every other time, the doctor turned and met my eyes, but this time he said my name. His voice was exactly as I remembered, soft and calm, a lilt of some sort of accent I couldn’t quite place. He smiled as I stood and held his hand out to take, I shook it and went to pull away but he held fast, both hands circling mine in his warmth.  
“It’s very good to see you again, Miss Hobbs. You seem to be recovering quickly.”, he said the last part as more of a question than a statement, and so I nodded slightly in answer.  
“I-Is that other guy here? Graham?”, I cringe at the coarseness of my voice. He smiles softly and shakes his head, “Will is working I’m afraid. Would you like to see him? He often asks after you and Abigail.”, his thumb rubs the inside of my wrist and I finally pull away, though he seems reluctant to let me go, he relents.  
I run a hand through my hair, pulling the loose strands out of my face, “Yes. C-Could you make that h-happen?”, I choke on my words slightly and rub at my chest uncomfortably.  
“Of course. Now, please come in and take a seat anywhere you’d like, Miss Hobbs.”  
I walk past him, careful not to make contact, and take in his office. It’s bigger than I’d thought it would be. There’s bookshelves, a desk, multiple sofas and chairs, and even a fireplace. I had expected the cold and clinical conditions of a school guidance counselor’s office, so I was sort of thrown off by how comforting the atmosphere was. I figured the two chairs sat across from each other would be better for conversation, so I sat in the one facing the door. Fuck, I’m so paranoid…  
The doctor took the seat across from me, a notebook I hadn't noticed before in his hands along with a fancy looking fountain pen. Then again, everything about this man seemed to be fancy; he was like some eccentric billionaire from a true crime novel. I fidgeted in my seat as he opened the notebook to a blank page and scribbled something in cursive, I was sitting too far to see what it was and figured I probably wouldn’t want to know. So, I busied myself with the loose thread dangling from my jacket sleeve. I jumped as he laughed suddenly.  
“I’m so sorry, how rude of me; I’ve neglected to properly introduce myself. I’m Dr Hannibal Lector. It is a pleasure to meet you formally Miss Hobbs.”  
I offer a small smile, “N-Nice to meet you too… A-And, uh, p-please just call me Fran, if you don’t mind…”, I coughed lightly into my sleeve from the strain of speaking. It was frustrating how long it was taking me to get back to normal again...  
“Of course, Fran. Now, from my understanding, this is not your first session with a psychiatrist, but I would like this to be a pleasant experience for both of us. I was thinking, rather than speaking to me as your doctor, we could converse as equals.”  
I furrow my brow and bite my lip, “L-Like friends?”, he nodded and smiled. “Yes, like friends.”, I can’t help but let out a dry laugh.  
“I-I won’t lie, doc; I-I’m not very good at making friends or k-keeping them.”, he frowned for just a moment, apparently not meaning to because his soft smile quickly returned.  
“Then I suppose you just haven’t encountered the right sort of people. That changes today.”, I tried to return his smile, but my whole body felt heavy. It had since that day, and I wasn’t sure if the feeling would ever leave...  
“A-Are you going to ask me about my d-dad? T-That red-head k-kept asking about him…”, I shrank down a little, mentioning him still set my teeth on edge and made me want to cry and scream all at once.  
“No, Fran,” his voice was soft, “Not if you don’t want to… And I’m assuming you’re referring to Ms Lounds? She is quite the character isn’t she?”  
I grit my teeth, “S-She keeps bugging Abigail… I-I told her to f-fuck off, but she just keeps popping up; l-like a weed…”  
“I’m sorry to hear that…”, we sat in silence for a moment before he spoke again.  
“Dr Bloom is treating your sister, but I was told you refused her services. Is there a reason for that, Fran?”  
I chewed on my bottom lip and let out a sigh, “I-I don’t like t-talking to people I don’t know… I-I like admitting I n-need help even less… B-But you… Y-You were there, so you k-know… I-I don’t know, I g-guess I just trust you more. O-Or something l-like that…”, I frown as the thread I’d been playing with snaps.  
“I see…”, he scribbles something in his notebook, “I suppose we should start our session officially, Fran. What would you like to talk about today?”, he asks with a warm smile.  
I just look at him for a moment, really taking him in for the first time. He was older than me, by quite a bit judging by his graying hair. He was clean shaven, his clothes neatly pressed and expensive looking. His face was all sharp angles and deep divots, his lips soft curves, his eyes round and dark but oddly warm. He looked foreign and unique, yet like any other middle aged man you’d see on the street. I idly wondered whether or not he was married…  
“C-Can we talk about t-the phone call? I-I think I’d like to t-talk about that, please.”, I could see his shoulders tense and his eyes darken. Maybe I should have been scared, confronting this man I barely knew all on my own. But his reaction only steeled my resolve. I need to know…  
“To what are you referring, Frances?”, his expression remained blank and his voice even, but I could tell I had caught him off guard.  
I cleared my throat, trying to speak as calmly and clearly as I could manage with a damaged esophagus, “Y-You called my house r-right before the FBI s-showed up… Y-You asked to talk t-to my dad… A-After he hung up, he k-killed my mom. W-What did you say to h-him?”, I could feel the tears building in my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. I didn’t want to appear weak in front of this man, not now.  
He smiled and closed the notebook on his lap gently, giving me his undivided attention. His dark eyes stared deeply into mine, and I couldn’t help but notice that his irises were a few shades lighter than I had originally thought. From far away, they had looked black, like coffee, but now I could see they were closer to the color of clove honey…  
“And what makes you think it was me, Frances?”  
I laughed, “I-It was your voice! I-I know it was! I-I’m not going t-to tell anyone. I-I just wanted to know w-what you said.”, I could feel a few tears escape and I was quick to wipe them away.  
“‘They know’...”  
“‘T-They know’? T-That’s it… D-Did you know what h-he was going to… W-what he…”, he shook his head and leaned back into his chair, posture more relaxed now.  
“H-He… A-All these news places k-keep saying all these s-shitty things about him b-but I… I-I know he wasn’t bad. H-He wasn’t a bad person, y-y’know… H-He was a g-good dad and I-I loved him and h-he loved m-me and Abigail and m-mom… Fuck… M-My mom… I-If she was here t-to see what people were s-saying…”, I let the tears come then, finally letting all the anguish I’d been holding in out in loud broken sobs. I buried my head into my hands, desperate to hide my messy face.  
Warm hands pulled mine away from my face and cupped my cheeks softly. Our eyes met again, and I let myself get lost in his gentle gaze.  
“Fran, I am going to ask you a very important question and I need you to be honest, alright?”, I sniffle and nod, “Good… Did you know what your father was doing?”  
My whole body goes cold, like a bucket of water was dumped on my head. I feel the words crawling up my damaged throat and a part of me wants to push them down. I don’t want to tell this man, who I’ve only known for less than a day, something so deeply dark and personal. But a bigger part of me, the part that made this appointment in the first place, wanted so desperately to say it out loud. THe weight of the words was drowning me and I knew speaking them aloud, letting them out into the open air, would free me.  
I allowed myself to lean closer, bringing my mouth as close to his ear as I dared, and spoke the word that I knew would both condemn and release me, “Yes…”  
I pulled away slowly, and my heart stuttered at the smile on his face. It was a look I recognized… It was the same face my dad had made when I helped him kill… He looked proud...


	2. Chapter 1: School Days

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next few chapters are going to focus on Frances' life before her father became a serial killer. They'll show what she was like growing up and what her relationships with her mother, sister, and dad were like. Eventually I'll work my way back to her 'present day' with Hannibal and Will. But I kind of wanted to explore who she is and her motivations.  
> It may take a while for the next chapter to come, so sorry for that in advance.  
> (She's around 10 years old in this chapter)

I pressed the rough paper towels tightly against my nose, trying hard to ignore the pain in favor of stopping the bleeding. This was the third time in a week I had found myself sitting in the school’s office waiting for a meeting with my parents and the principal, Mrs Welsh. My knuckles were bruised, my eye blackened and swollen, and my nose gushing blood; but I couldn’t help but smile knowing that the other kid looked worse.  
My mom marched through the door, a worried look on her face as she searched for me. I waved slightly to get her attention and her eyes widened as she saw the state I was in.  
“Oh sweetie, what on Earth happened to you?!”, she nearly shouted as she grabbed at my face, turning it this way and that to assess the damage. I cringe at the tight grip she has on my jaw, and she quickly lets me go with a guilty expression.  
She takes the seat beside me, her face very serious, and looks me in the eyes as she asks, very calmly, “Who did this to you?”  
I had nearly forgotten that it had been dad coming in every other meeting, and he had seemingly neglected to tell mom about my ‘little escapades’.  
“Don’t worry, mom; the other kid looks worse than I do.”  
She sighs deeply, “Please tell me you didn’t start a fight with someone, Frances..”, she visibly cringes at the thought.  
“No. But I ended it, just like dad taught me.”, I grin widely and she frowns, probably at the blood clinging to my teeth.  
Before mom could say anything else, the principal called us into her office. I trudged along, careful not to let the grip I had on the blood soaked paper towels slip as I felt more blood ooze out of my nostrils at my movement. My mom had me sit down first, making sure I was settled before taking her own seat beside me.  
“As I’m sure you’ve figured out, Mrs Hobbs; your daughter has gotten into a scuffle with another student. This is the third time just this week and I’m afraid we’re going to have to suspend Frances for at least the rest of this month. I recommend she think on what she’s done and try to catch up on school work while she’s gone.”  
“Now wait a minute! This is the first I’m hearing about fights!”  
“What your husband chooses to tell you about your children is none of my bus-”, mom cuts her off angrily.  
“Did you ever think that my daughter was just defending herself against bullies? I mean, look at her!”  
“Frances broke one boys arm, another’s nose, and fractured a girl's ribs in this fight alone. Honestly you’re quite lucky that none of the other parents have pressed charges.”  
“Well… I… We still haven’t heard Fran’s side of the story! Sweetie, can you tell us what happened?”  
I sink down in my chair, feeling suddenly nervous with both adults staring me down so intensely. I clear my throat, blood and mucus having nearly glued it shut, and stare at the wall to avoid eye contact.  
“Well... Abigail and I were playing on the swings during recess like we usually do... Then Brandon, Carl, and Maria came up and told us to move. They called Abigail names and then Carl pushed her into the dirt so I got mad. I tried to tell them to leave us alone but then Brandon punched me so I jumped on him and started hitting him. Carl and Maria tried to pull me off so I ended up hitting them too.”  
I feel mom’s hand on my shoulder and turn to see her giving Mrs Welsh a pointed look.  
“See, my children were just defending themselves! Are those other kids being punished?!”  
Mrs Welsh and my mom went back and forth for a while. My mom insisted that I had done nothing wrong and didn’t deserve to be suspended, Mrs Welsh kept explaining that my actions required consequences, and I just kind of shrank further into my chair awkwardly. At the end of it all, my mom dragged me through the school to find Abigail and we all loaded into her car to go home. Mom ranted the whole drive, insisting that she wasn’t mad at me but the principal and teachers, yada yada…  
I stared out the window, watching the scenery roll by and letting my mind wander. I could see the reflection of my little sister in the side view mirror. She had a few tears falling down her pale cheeks and was twiddling at a loose string dangling from her sweater. Abigail had always been more sensitive than I was. I was always quicker to steel myself for what needed to be done whereas she was quick to cry and apologise. Even though she was only three years younger than me, I felt that I needed to protect her from the mean people in the world. And if that meant getting in trouble with teachers or our parents, I didn’t mind.  
I tapped softly on the glass of my window, getting Abigail’s attention. Her eyes met mine in the side mirror and I pulled the bloody paper towels from my face quickly to make a funny face. Even though it hurt, and a gush of blood dripped down into my mouth before I could return the towels to catch it; her smile and quiet laugh made it worth it.  
I could see our house in the distance through the trees. Dad’s truck was parked in the driveway, so I knew he’d either be in the lodge or making dinner. Mom pulled in, parked, and turned off the car before turning to me and Abigail.  
“Now, your principal mentioned that this wasn’t the first time something like this has happened,” she gave me a pointed look, “And we are going to talk about that tomorrow,” she sighs and rubs at her temples, “But, for now, let’s just have a nice family dinner, okay?”  
We both nodded, neither of us really sure what to say. I climbed out of the car and went to help Abigail out. She held my hand tightly as we walked to the front door behind Mom.  
“Hey,” I whispered to Abigail and she turned to me, “Don’t worry, okay? I’m the one in trouble, not you. Mom and Dad aren’t mad at you.”  
She nods quietly, sniffling and wiping at the tears in her eyes before they could fall. I squeezed her hand in a way I hoped was reassuring, and we both stepped inside. I could hear Dad in the kitchen as I helped Abigail take off her coat and shoes before removing my own.  
As we entered the kitchen I threw the, now useless, paper towels in the trash can as we passed it. Dad turned to greet us but stopped dead when he saw my face. I tried to smile and play it off, but my nose hurt too bad to maintain the expression. Dad sighed and forced a tight smile, telling us to sit at the table while he finished with the cooking.  
Dinner that night was awkward, none of us really saying anything to each other. It was lots of conversations starting and dwindling off into silence. It was my night to do the dishes, and I did so quietly before heading up to bed. I had just changed into my pajamas and was getting ready to lay down when I heard a knock at my door. My dad stood there, a small smile on his face.  
“Hey, kiddo; we should really clean your face up before you ruin your pillowcase, huh?”  
I can feel heat rush to my face, having totally forgotten about the aggressive nosebleed I’d suffered just a few hours ago. I nodded and followed my dad to the bathroom, sitting on the closed toilet seat as he grabbed a dark rag and wet it in the sink. He grabbed my jaw and held my face still, dragging the rough cloth against my cheeks and chin before lightly wiping at my aching nose. I tried my best not to flinch at the pain, but it was easier said than done.  
“Well, it looks like you broke it, kid. We’ll have to fix that, now won’t we?”, he smiles but his eyes are sad as he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet. I furrow my brow, unsure of where this is going as he takes two shiny quarters out and places his wallet on the counter beside the bloodied rag.  
“Now, this is something you’ll need to know if you keep getting in fights like this. You take two quarters like this…”, he holds them up for me to see, “You put them on either side of your nose…”, I flinch as the cold metal of the coins makes contact with my skin, “Now, take a deep breath, Fran.”, I breathe in deeply and, before I can exhale, he does a quick motion with his hands and I hear a loud pop followed by a blast of pain.  
“OW!”  
He pulls away and smiles apologetically, “Feels better though, doesn’t it?”  
I feel at my nose, touching it ever so slightly, and notice that it’s mostly numb now. I nod quietly and sniffle. He ruffled my hair gently and smiled softly before kneeling down to meet my eyes.  
“Listen, kiddo; I’m proud of you for protecting your sister, but I don’t like seeing you hurt like this. Neither does Mom or Abigail. Just… Try your best to avoid those mean kids, okay? For our sake?”  
I nodded, fighting the tears of frustration I felt coming. I didn’t really like fighting, but kids just refused to leave Abigail alone. She was an easy target because she wouldn’t stand up for herself, so I constantly found myself standing up in her place.  
“I-I’m sorry, Daddy…”, I mumbled, voice shaking.  
He grabbed my face gently and wiped stray tears from my cheeks, “Hey, hey… No need for tears, sweetpea. You want me to read you a story before bed? Would that make you feel better?”, he smiled as I nodded.  
Dad lifted me into his arms and carried me to my bed, setting me down and tucking the covers around me. I grabbed my teddy bear, Fred, and held him tightly in my arms as Dad went to grab the book we’d been reading last time. It was a short novel called Peter Pan, and we’d read it at least seven times; it was my favorite story to fall asleep to, and Dad was always nice enough to read it again and again.  
Dad sat beside me, tucking me against his side, and opened the book to where we had left off. I could feel his voice rumbling in his chest as I lay my head there. It only took a few minutes for me to fall asleep. My dreams that night were filled with mermaids and fairies. I wish things could have stayed like that forever… But we all have to grow up eventually…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading <3


	3. The First Hunting Trip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Frances is meant to be around 13 years old here.)  
> I hope y'all enjoy this chapter <3

I tried my best to muffle my footfalls despite the crunching leaves as I made my way deeper into the forest. I stopped behind a tree, listening for any sign of life. All I can hear is the breeze in the branches and my own breathing, so I continue on. I rub my gloved hands together as I walk, trying to keep them warm despite the chill autumn always brought. A flash of color passing between trees stops me in my tracks and I hold my breath. As soon as I hear the leaves ahead of me rustling, I launch forward, running as fast as my short legs will carry me.  
I laugh as I hear a shriek, then see a blur of purple race away ahead of me. I stretch out my hand, pushing myself to go faster as I close in. I only stop once I’ve got a handful of Abigail’s puffy winter jacket.  
“I got you!”, I let out a breathy laugh, huffing and puffing from the physical exertion. Abigail turns to face me, looking only mildly upset as she also tries to catch her breath.  
“No fair! You cheated somehow!”,I shake my head, air coming easier now as I let out a groan, “You always think I cheat! I’m the only one that plays fair, Miss ‘timeout-my-shoelaces-are-untied’!”, I nearly fall over as she shoves me with a pout.  
“Hey, they were!”  
A voice calling our names from somewhere behind me catches our attention. I turn around and can just see our house off in the distance, our dad stood in the driveway in his hunting gear. Abigail and I look at each other quickly, an unspoken challenge passing between us, before we take off in a race to get to him.  
As I start closing in on Dad’s position, I allow myself to slow down just a little bit, just enough for Abigail to pass me. Though I never liked losing, I knew it would make Abigail happy to win. I stop beside Dad, kneeling over to catch my breath as Abigail breathlessly celebrates her victory.  
“Well, it looks like you two are having a lot of fun! I guess that means you wouldn’t want to come hunting with your boring old dad, huh?”, Dad asks with a sly smile.  
Abigail and I rush to him, grabbing at his jacket excitedly and speaking at the same time, “We wanna go! Let’s go! Let’s go!”, Dad shakes his head and chuckles.  
“Alright, I guess you guys can come. But you have to make sure you both stay nice and quiet so we don’t scare off the deer.”  
We both nod and zip our lips, determined to finally go on a hunting trip with our Dad. All we had ever seen of his trips were the spoils; fresh cooked venison on our plates for dinner and the antlers he’d mount in his hunting cabin. I was most excited to finally see a deer up close; a lot of them tended to steer clear of our house but I had caught glimpses of them hiding in the trees.  
Dad started off down his usual trail, a well worn dirt path through the thicket. I had seen him walk the path many times before, but I had never been allowed near it. Dad said that noise and human scent would scare off the deer, so Abigail and I were forbidden to use the path to minimize ‘our human footprint’ as Dad called it.  
“Now, stay close, girls. I don’t want either of you getting lost.”, we both nodded in replay, taking his ‘quiet rule’ to heart. Though silence was easy enough to maintain, Abigail’s excitement was not as she ended up a ways ahead of us.  
As Abigail went even further ahead I stayed back with Dad, who seemed unusually quiet. He had been sort of off for awhile now, getting this far off look on his face before snapping back to reality and acting like nothing was amiss. Mom and Abigail either didn’t notice or chose to ignore it, but it gave me a sinking feeling…  
As I fell further behind, letting Dad go a bit ahead of me, he suddenly stopped. I froze, just watching him as he stared at Abigail, who remained oblivious. My breath hitched as he brought up his rifle, peered through the scope, and aimed the barrel at her back. I couldn’t really believe what I was seeing. Surely I was imagining this. This had to be some awful nightmare I would wake up from at any moment. But as he flicked the safety off and steadied his aim, it suddenly became very real.  
“Dad!”, I shouted, almost involuntarily.  
He jumped slightly, clearly startled out of whatever trance he had been in, then lowered his gun and turned to face me with a smile.  
“Sorry, kiddo,” he flicks the safety back on in what he must think is a subtle way, and adjusts the scope ever so slightly, “Just checking the scope, it was a bit off center. And you know that makes all the difference.”  
I nod, desperate to believe him despite what I had just seen. No one wants to believe that their parents are capable of hurting their own children. Yet I had seen the set of his jaw, the steel of his dark gaze, as he readied himself to do the unthinkable. And I knew, from that moment on, I could never look at my Dad in the same way again...  
I kept close to Dad as we continued our trek through the woods. I was terrified that if I took my eyes off of him, even if just for a moment, Abigail would suffer the consequences. My mind raced all the while, thinking back to all the memories I had of my Dad. Had something brought this about? Had I done something? What could have caused that brief lapse of sanity? But most importantly, I wondered if he wanted to kill me too. If he had brought us both out to the middle of the woods to kill us and leave our bodies here to rot. Did Mom know? Was this some horrible plan the two of them had come up with to get rid of us? My stomach lurched, and I struggled not to vomit as my thoughts spiraled out of control.  
Dad’s hand reached out and grabbed me by the shoulder and I could feel every hair on my body stand up. His grip wasn’t tight, but it made me feel pinned down and unable to breath. I felt like prey, my heart beating a mile a minute and a cold sweat building up on my skin.  
He put a finger to his lips and pointed a little ways ahead of us. I carefully looked away from him, hesitant to do so while he still held that rifle. A few feet away I could see Abigail tucked behind a tree, and just passed her was a beautiful Buck twice her size. It’s antlers stretched far above its head, looking like the gnarled branches of the trees around us. It was grazing peacefully in a small clearing, it’s posture relaxed and open.  
I took a step towards it, not really thinking about where I was or what we had come here to do. But reality came back to me quickly as a loud gunshot rang out from just behind me. For a moment, my blood ran cold and I looked to where I had seen Abigail last. She had turned to face me now and as I looked her over and didn’t see any blood, I looked to the Buck once more. It had crumpled to the ground and now lay, twitching and kicking its feet as it let out it’s final cries. It had a large splatter of blood on the side of its neck, and I knew that that’s where the bullet had entered. Soon it would bleed out, grow cold, and die…  
I walked to Abigail and took her hand in mine, feeling numb, sick, and sad all at once. Her hand was small and warm in mine, and she returned my loose grip tightly. I could tell that seeing the animal dying upset her, so I couldn’t even fathom how she would react to knowing what I’d seen Dad doing just moments ago. I decided then that I would keep it a secret. No one could know what I had seen, not only because a part of me wished it hadn’t been real, but also to protect the people I loved; because the knowledge of such a horrible thing would absolutely destroy them…  
I could hear Dad coming up behind me, so it was a bit easier not to flinch as his heavy hand landed on my shoulder. I stared straight ahead, watching the Buck as it slowly stilled and it’s eyes glazed over. I could feel Abigail shaking slightly, and knew she must be crying.  
“Now, girls; I’m going to teach you a very important lesson today so I need you both to listen carefully. Can you do that, Abigail?”, I didn’t move as she mustered a small sound of agreement, “Frances?”, I could feel his eyes burning into the top of my head. I wanted to scream, but instead I just let out a quiet, “Yeah…”  
Dad came to kneel in front of us, a hand on my shoulder and the other on Abigail’s. Though he was addressing both of us, his eyes lingered on me.  
“I know it’s sad when something dies, especially if you’re the one that has to kill it. But all animals, even humans, have to eat. The deer, they understand that. And the way we repay them for their sacrifice, is by honoring every part of them; not a single bit of their body goes to waste, not even the bones. And when we eat them, we carry a part of them with us for the rest of our lives; they live on in our bodies. So even though they aren’t alive anymore, they still exist in this world. Do y’all understand?”  
“Yes, Daddy…”, Abigail muttered softly, voice shaking with tears. I squeezed her hand, and mustered all the courage I had to finally look at my Dad and meet his eyes. They were dark and, even with the gentle smile on his face, it scared me…  
“I understand…”, I spoke as clearly and carefully as I could, even as tears clogged my throat and blurred my vision. I bit my lip and pushed them away, not wanting to look weak in front of him, not after seeing the predator he was capable of being. Weakness would get me killed, and I had to live if I wanted to protect Abigail.

As we made our way down the dirt path back to the house, Dad having stayed behind to deal with the remains of the buck, I held Abigail’s hand tightly in mine. Though she had calmed down from the shock of watching the deer die, I had not. Images of Abigail in place of that deer, bleeding out on the forest floor flashed behind my eyes every time I blinked and it made my stomach lurch painfully.  
Once we got inside the house, I helped Abigail out of her jacket and boots, before dealing with mine and asking her to tell Mom that I wouldn’t be eating dinner. Though confused, she nodded and ran off to the kitchen.  
I slowly made my way upstairs and into my bedroom. I closed the door behind me, and allowed myself to collapse onto my bed and cry into my pillow. My dreams that night were dark and bloody, leaving me lurching up in a cold sweat. As I kneeled over the toilet after vomiting for what must have been the fourth time, I tried desperately to think of more pleasant memories but all of them slipped through my fingers as the empty look in my Dad’s eyes washed them away.  
That’s where my Dad found me, broken and sick on the bathroom floor. He pulled my hair away from my face and rubbed my back as I shivered. I could see him smiling sadly as he asked if I was okay. It made me want to cry…  
“D-Daddy?”, I swallow around the lump in my throat as I meet his eyes. He nods encouragingly, waiting for me to go on.  
“Do… Do you love me?”  
He frowns deeply, forehead wrinkling in what could be anger or confusion, “Of course I do, sweetpea. I love you and your sister more than anything in this world, you know that. Now why don’t you tell me what’s wrong?”  
I stare into his eyes in silence for several seconds, trying to see whether or not he’s lying but see nothing out of the ordinary.  
“Nothing… Might have been something I ate… Sorry, Dad…”, I sniffle, closing my eyes as they are starting to burn from having cried so much.  
“It’s alright, sweetpea. You don’t ever have to apologize to me. Now, let’s get you cleaned up and back to bed, okay?”  
I nod and allow him to help me up and to the sink. I brush my teeth and wander back to my bed, feeling faint. As I’m pulling the covers over my shoulders and snuggling up with my teddy, Dad comes in with a washcloth and places it on my forehead. I sigh in relief at the coolness of it and close my eyes, feeling too exhausted to keep them open anymore. I feel a gentle kiss on my head, then hear the sound of my bedroom door closing as Dad leaves.  
As I start to drift off to sleep, I wonder if maybe I really had imagined it all. Mom had always said I had a wild imagination… I hoped that it was, prayed even… But my dreams were still haunted by the dark look in his eyes...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lack of Will and Hannibal thus far. I promise they're major characters later lol

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fanfiction I’ve posted in years. So please be kind… I started writing fanfic in middle school and posted a few to Quotev in it’s early days (yes, it was that long ago), but I wasn’t confident in my writing so I deleted my whole account but continued writing on my own on google docs. I have quite a few fanfics saved up, almost none of them finished, but this one has been coming to me a lot easier than the others. So, I thought I might put myself out there again. I’m a lot more confident in my writing, though I’m well aware that there’s room for improvement… I’m open to constructive criticism (as long as it’s encouraging and not rude, of course). A lot of my writing is me venting or trying to cope with real situations in my life, so these stories are deeply personal to me... It’s taken me a long time to build the confidence to share my writing with others, but I’m hopeful that someone might like it… Please enjoy, and thank you for reading.  
> (Also, sorry if the formatting is weird. I write these in google docs then copy & paste. This is also the first story I'm posting so I might mess up a bit...)


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